Tidings of Comfort and Joy

And so it descends upon us, slowly at first as the evenings draw in, the air cools and the first fires are lit, then as December arrives, there comes the ensuing excitement, chaos and ritual, all bound up in lists: manic shopping sprees, over enthusiastic orders to the local butcher, trips to farm shops to gather enough vegetables to feel the whole street and the endless present wrapping frenzy.

 

 

I have to admit that I adore Christmas, I always have. As a child it was magical, as indeed it should be, shrouded in secrecy, fairy lights and anticipation. Magic. Now, as December is welcomed, my house is filled with flickering cinnamon scented candles, huge arrays of freshly picked holly and mistletoe, garlands and wreaths, twinkling lights and of course, the biggest Norwegian spruce which I can (reasonably) fit into my sitting room, carried (or rather dragged) home from the local Christmas tree farm by my grumbling children.

Today, I am raiding the larder in an attempt to begin the preparation for my Christmas cake (better late than never), something I do every year. Faithfully following Delia's tried and tested recipe, along with numerous cooks throughout the land.

In a world of such commercialism, it is easy to be lured by the hype and incessant advertisements and lose sight of the important things, of family, friends and precious time together. I like to think that we are increasingly returning to tradition and authentic values. This year I will be making gifts: beautifully wrapped chunks of buttery fudges and rich, homemade chutneys to be included in hampers for my food loving friends as well as buying from local businesses, craft fayres and Christmas markets.

Christmas Eve is my favourite day of the year. It is a time of coming together, of reflection. I readily admit a fondness for the Scandanavian way of life and there, it is celebrated as we celebrate Christmas day; the meal is eaten and presents exchanged and opened on the eve. Here, it is a time when families celebrate tradition, whether it is queuing at the local butcher to collect your much anticipated order and joining in with the good humour, entertaining friends with steaming mulled wine and crumbling mince pies, listening to carols from Kings, or attending Midnight Mass.

When my boys were little, it was really all about managing to get through the day in one piece, such was the excitement, a trip to the pantomime or another visit to Santa filled up the time until it was dark enough for pyjamas, stories, hanging the stockings on the mantle and, of course, leaving the obligatory glass of sherry and mince pie for Santa and some carrots for the reindeer (each individually named, naturally), usually with a note for Magnus, the elf who always wrote letters to my boys during December in his very spidery (left handed...) writing, accompanying his little well chosen advent gifts.

This year, it will be the local carol service, home for a glass of fizz, hanging stockings, stuffing the ubiquitous turkey into the oven and sitting down in front of the log burner to watch 'Its a wonderful Life' (again), wishing for snow and secretly listening for the sound of sleigh bells. And there it is, that magic again....